


Take You Around the World

by azn-jack-fiend (ajf)



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Group Sex, M/M, Porn, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajf/pseuds/azn-jack-fiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All hands on deck! This is a sailor orgy set at some point in the early 20th century, but it doesn't have anything to do with anything. It's just a no-frills, no-fluff, straight-up Jack-has-a-sailor-orgy story.  Contains light bondage & D/S, rough sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take You Around the World

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://heddychaa.livejournal.com/profile)[**heddychaa**](http://heddychaa.livejournal.com/) deserves a large portion of blame for this, since she expressed interest in a Jack/Sailor concept at some point, then acted as evil cheerleader and beta. Title from [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_4UIVkLOa74&feature=related).

Jack propositioned the three sailors after two rounds of drinks. They'd come off a long voyage, looking for a fuck but trying to be economical about it; otherwise, they would have gone to a better class of establishment, not this run-down shack with hardly any whores.

"The offer's open to any of you fine, lucky gentlemen," he said with an optimistic grin. "Much like myself. I'll bring the rum and rent the room. I can accommodate— " He paused as he reminded himself to slow down on the fancy language. As for double entendres? Better to jettison _them_ entirely. Two of the three didn't speak much English.

"I want trade. I'll fuck or be fucked. Your choice. Who's up for it?" He grinned a little wider and made an evocative hand gesture.

That got the Swede's attention. He was a tall man for the time, about Jack's size, pale blue eyes surrounded by fine wrinkles from the sun, and he nodded approvingly. "Yes, I go."

The sailor they called Bas, or Basilio — Spanish, likely — gave Jack a searching look as he swallowed the last of his rum. He must have liked what he saw ( _Of course_ , thought Jack) because he nodded as well.

That left the young blond English sailor, Jim. Definitely not yet twenty, almost a cabin boy — if they still had cabin boys on steamships. Jim's eyes twitched, and maybe something else twitched as well, but he shrugged his shoulders and looked off to the side, aiming for world-weary but hitting ill-at-ease instead.

"Two out of three isn't bad," said Jack, standing up and reaching for his coat, still grinning, because he was already beginning to imagine some of the possible combinations. He'd let the sailors set the pace, though. Bas and the Swede seemed like take-charge kind of guys.

Even better, it turned into three out of three: on the way out, Jim's shipmates managed to coax or bribe him to come along.

Down the street was a reasonably clean inn with modern fixtures. Jack paid for a small room, slipped a pound to the night porter in exchange for an extra pallet and complete discretion, invited the sailors to use the amenities and returned to the dive for another bottle of rum.

On the way back to the inn, Jack couldn't help congratulating himself. Not that it was ever hard to pull sailors, but three at the same time, just like that, and none of them bad-looking... damn, he was good. He wondered which one had the biggest cock. Well, he'd find out soon enough.

The room was at the end of a short hall. He shouldered through the unlocked door like a rock star, bottle in one hand. _Remember, period-specific language_... "Who wants a suck?" he asked cheerfully, enjoying the attention as they all turned toward him.

Bas was closest, naked, towelling himself off. Clean water glistened on the tight blue-black curls of hair covering his chest and crotch. Keeping eyes locked on Jack, lips curled in a faint half-smile, he dropped the towel to the floor, closed his right fist around his cock and stroked himself. The water droplets on his arm quivered downwards, dancing to the tense and stretch of his muscles.

"Me, now."

And that was as good a way to start as any, so Jack threw the bottle on the empty pallet, stepped forward and fell on his knees, remembering just how fucking much he loved getting on his knees as Bas' rapidly stiffening cock slipped right into his mouth. And he loved that too, the warm, wet, rich male scent, the slippery sour tang of precome— now he was hard from sucking cock, pressed up against surprisingly soft skin and wet hair, rubbing himself through his trousers and wanting more, more, as much as he could take.

Bas had grabbed a fistful of Jack's hair, but when Jack applied his mouth and tongue in a smooth rhythmic spiral, going just as deep as the sailor would have pulled him anyway, the grip slackened into a deceptively light caress. Jack slowed as he took the last inch; the friction of newly-hard, very thick cock rubbed the back of his throat painfully dry, so he arched his head halfway back, dragging a moan from the sailor, then pushed forward again, and this time he was right there, clicking into place like the last piece of the puzzle. Another amazing Jack Harkness deep throat. Amazing enough to make a Spanish sailor curse in Greek. He'd figure that one out later.

Jack's only fleeting regret was that he'd jumped into the fun too fast to get naked. His left hand was busy stroking the balls of the sailor he was sucking, and he'd squeezed his right hand down half-opened trousers onto his own cock, which made the intricacy of boot-laces and shirt buttons an unwelcome prospect. Then other hands came on him, fumbling at his boots and tearing at his clothes.

When the man behind him pulled off his shirt, the sleeves wrenched his arms backwards, trapping his wrists. Frustrating... _in a satisfying kind of way_ , thought Jack, deciding to take it in stride as bonus bondage.

Shoulders thrown back, he shifted his knees to find a new balance, dedicated to staying on task. Bas grunted impatiently, let out another incongruous curse, grabbed Jack's head with both hands, pulled him straight and started fucking his throat with vicious staccato hip thrusts.

Too late for cocksucking technique. _Breathing_ was the new goal. Jack focused on that, focused on letting all the intense sensations of being twisted and fucked and _used_ wash over him. Bas' fingers with their inexorable grip tightened and released slightly against the sides of his face, tightened and released with every stroke, forcing into Jack faster, faster—

The sailor pumped his mouth full of hot come. Jack swallowed it all, gratefully, noisily, and the bitter pleasing taste still lingered, coating his tongue and the roof of his mouth. _One down_ , thought Jack, and _fuck, he had a nice cock_. Bas was panting as he let go of Jack's head and staggered a step back.

The sailor behind him gave another sharp tug at his wrists; Jack swayed on his knees for a second, then toppled back against the big Swede's chest. They bounced against the wall and hit the floor. Jack was laughing as he tugged at his shirt cuffs, too giddy to realize he was in a wrestling match until he'd already lost, because just as he'd freed his arms, the Swede was on him, aggressive as hell and almost entirely naked, smelling of cheap rum and fresh sweat. Jack only caught a flash of bared teeth and glazed blue eyes before he was pinned face-down against the pallet.

A surge of adrenaline made him want to fight back, to prove his own strength by bucking upwards against the weight, but he rode it out, slammed it down and flipped the feeling, submissively rolling his ass against the sailor's hard-planed stomach in little circles that would _have_ to drive him crazy.

"So you've got the moves," Jack taunted, as he twisted his head to the side. "Now are you gonna fuck me, or do I have to call a referee?"

The Swede actually _growled_ at him, and shifted up, reaching for something... that jar of cream he'd spotted earlier? Good thing the sailor wasn't too drunk to need a firm reminder.

Jack elbow-crawled languorously up onto the pallet, thought about turning on his back so he could enjoy watching the Swede's angry sex face while— oh, _there_ was the English boy, Jim, and a pretty sight he was, too, sitting on the edge of the bed, trousers down around his ankles, messy and flushed and more than a bit confused, maybe even wondering just why his prick (which had an appealing little outward curve) was standing so stiffly at attention.

 _I can help you with that_ , thought Jack, giving the young sailor an amiable leer.

Jim started and stared into Jack's eyes, fists gripping the bed, breathing heavily through half-opened lips, face drawn tight in nervous fascination, as if Jack were about to teach him something he wasn't sure he wanted to know. And Jack would, oh _absolutely_ he would, the plans were forming in his mind right this second...

"Like what you see? Come on and — _unh—_ " No warning before the Swede grabbed Jack's hips and shoved about eight inches of well-greased cock up his ass.

He'd been expecting a similar assault, had relaxed already, but it still _ached_ so much that a wave of near-nausea clawed through his body.

"You fucking bastard," he hissed, "you... you... oh _yes—_ "

Jack was busy getting screwed half-blind, but he still saw Bas step over and offer the bottle of rum to an entranced Jim. Jim took a deep swallow, and let Bas pull him off the bed and push him down on his knees in front of Jack.

"Take his mouth, like me," advised Bas.

"You heard the man," said Jack. "Either that, or toss me off."

Jim fed his cock into Jack's mouth.

Taking two men at the same time electrified him, as if he was part of a circuit crackling with power, here in this moment only to take pleasure and give it onwards. The Swede was rough, fucking his ass hard and fast and calling out "good, good," but Jim was smooth, barely moving, letting the Swede's pounding motion slide Jack's mouth back and forth, up and down his cock, that sweet young cock that fit in his mouth and slipped down his throat so easily.

He was dying to come _—_ and no prospect of a considerate reacharound, not from _this_ lot _—_ but this was good too ( _good, good_ ) as long as it lasted. The rhythm jarred him to the core but left his mind floating at ease, losing track of time as he took everything they gave him, over and over.

At some point Jack spread his knees wider, part of some hazy plan for swivelling onto his back, but the Swede was having none of that, grabbing his thighs and dragging him back into position, then thrusting deep, so deep Jack could feel the man's sac squeezed tight against his opening, a pleasant, softer contrast to the hard rod riding inside him. The push rocked him forward, sent him swallowing up Jim's length — and Jack was still in control enough to go for a little eye contact, glancing upwards through half-closed eyelids into Jim's dark, distracted gaze, hooking him, trying to mind-fuck him, and it was _working_ , because Jim was moaning now, and his cock was pulsing in Jack's throat.

Jack rocked back the little that he could, sucked and lapped around the salty-sweet head and tender foreskin, rocked forward—

Jim cried, "Oh God," in an abandoned voice and held on to Jack's shoulder as if he were drowning. A satisfyingly substantial load of come spurted and frothed into Jack's mouth ( _Been a while for you, has it?_ ) and he swallowed down his second mouthful of the night.

The Swede kept at him longer, orgasm delayed by alcohol. After a last frenzied round, he dug his bruising stiff fingers into Jack's hipbones, growled again, and Jack felt him soften, felt a sense of completeness. _Three down_.

When the Swede pulled out, Jack could finally stop bracing himself and begin to relax... relax muscles he'd forget he even had, if not for a good hard pounding now and then.

He slid onto his side, stretched like a cat, rolled his shoulders, licked his lips. There was a warm trail of spent sailor trickling down the back of his thigh. Time to clean up, and damn, he was thirsty, too.

Next to the bed was a flannel he used and a pitcher of water he gulped halfway down.

Bas, sitting on the bed, waved the rum bottle at him.

"Keep it," said Jack.

The other two sailors sprawled on the floor. The small room reeked of sweat and rum and a more subtle note underneath that, Jack's own pheromones. He rose up in the middle of it all and made a survey of the sailors.

"Your turn," purred Jack, crooking a finger at Jim.

"What? I— "

Bas let out a low chuckle. "Is fair," he pronounced, sliding off the bed and going for him.

Jim didn't struggle, but he seemed dazed, stupefied. Bas had to pull him onto the bed and position him like a mannequin. He was softer than he'd been with Jack, pressing the young sailor down slowly, deliberately, hands lingering, unfolding him from a seated position at the end of the bed to lay him on his back, knees bent down, feet still on the floor.

The Swede appeared to be very interested, and sat up for a better view.

The scene brought to mind an intricate fantasy Jack hadn't wanked off to since the 19th century: sodomizing a saucy cabin boy against the mainmast of a clipper ship as a crowd of sailors cheered him on.

He smiled to himself... well, the smile was for Jim, too, so he made it extra wide and toothy, calculating the effect with artistic precision. Jack stepped over to the bed and poised himself over the young sailor's body, careful not to touch him yet. And then he did... just a light touch of the hand, palming the side of his face, curling one finger in the damp cornsilk hair above his ear, staying in relentless eye contact.

Jim's breathing grew rapid and shallow.

Following his breath inwards, leaning in for a kiss, wetting those dry parted lips with the tip of his tongue... Jack wanted all of that very badly right now, but a kiss was often too much tenderness for men like these, more than they could handle. He wanted Jim a little scared, not horrified. Stirred up just enough to fall to pieces for him when the time came.

"You like looking at me, don't you?" Jack asked in a light tone, as his wide smile faded into something more curved and complicated.

When he didn't get an answer, he leaned in closer. He had both knees on the bed now, on either side of Jim.

"That wasn't a hard question. Say, yes."

"Yes," said Jim, voice not too unsteady.

"Look down."

Jim immediately flicked his eyes downward ( _got you_ ) to where Jack's cock and balls were jutting. Jack was confident that the sight would leave a strong impression.

"You're going to take all of that," said Jack cheerfully.

Jim hissed and arched his shoulders up. Bas, who'd been sitting up at the head of the bed, reached over and pressed them right back down, then smoothed his hands onto Jim's upper arms and kept them there.

"Shh," said Bas.

Jack caught Jim's eyes again, hooking him just like before. He was beginning to feel like a particularly unsporting fisherman.

"The only part that scares you is how much you're going to love it," he told Jim.

No visible reaction yet. Jack hoped the message wasn't too complicated to sink in. He didn't even know if it was true — didn't matter, he was _making_ it true, right now.

"You saw how much fun I had? Where I went? You liked watching? That'll be you. _You_."

Jim's face became still, like a reflective pool.

One more time, nice and simple. "Trust me," said Jack, and stroked the side of his head again.

Jim's breaths had evened out and grown deeper.

Showtime.

Jack edged back off the bed, picked up the jar of cream, scooped out a generous amount and returned to begin the pleasant work of opening Jim up. He slid one finger in so quickly, so smoothly that Jim didn't moan and shiver until about two seconds later.

" _Good_ boy," said Jack. "Give it up, that's right."

Now that Jack had the feel of him (slick and hot and tight, tight, tight, but that almost went without saying) and was working fingers in and out with less and less resistance, and more and more pretty noises, he looked up and saw that Jim had his eyes screwed shut. _I'll let you get away with that for now_ , he thought.

Bas was still holding down one of Jim's shoulders. Not that that was _necessary_ , really, but Jack appreciated it anyway, appreciated the play of both sailors' taut muscles, the contrast of the dark hair on Bas' forearms set against Jim's pale skin. Bas was using his free hand to tug at the considerable weight of his still mostly-limp prick.

"He like you," he said, in a mildly accusatory tone.

"You've just got to sweet-talk them, that's all," replied Jack.

Bas curled his lips thoughtfully, no doubt storing the advice for future attempts on Jim's virtue.

Jack rubbed some more cream over his own cock, having to grit his teeth and focus all the while, because he'd been unfairly hard for what seemed like _forever_.

He spread Jim's legs wider, leaned forward, snapped his fingers. The sound wasn't as dramatic as he'd hoped (damn slippery fingers) but it got Jim's attention, made his eyelids flutter open.

"Come on, look at me. Down. I want you to _see_ this."

He pressed into Jim, who was trembling warm and ready and _there_ for him, on pretty much all levels. Fuck, it felt fantastic to finally stick his cock inside someone.

"You're doing such a good job, relaxing for me, keeping your eyes open," said Jack, as he rolled forward with slow, steady, even strokes. "But I'm not _hearing_ you. Don't you appreciate what I'm doing for you? Hmm? I think you need to _let me know_."

Jim let out a frustrated sigh, desperate to please, but... confused.

"Some of those sounds you were making earlier, maybe. _Oh_ ," and Jack imitated the high-pitched moan. "Or just a plain, ‘Fuck me, Jack.' Now breathe, and do it."

"Fuck me Jack fuck me Jack fuck me— "

Letting his mind go was a luxury Jack had been postponing, but he seized it now, shoving in harder and faster, slipping into nothing but pure sensation and that sweet pressure. When he came back — seconds? minutes? — he was still riding Jim, still hard, and gasping in relief, because he wanted to draw this out to his last limit.

He slowed down his pace a little, licked and kissed and sucked at the delicious soft skin on the inside of the sailor's left knee. He leaned back, pushed in again, higher this time, but Jim's entire torso jerked upwards, so Jack shifted back to a more indirect angle where he could fuck as hard and deep as he wanted, and Jim could take every inch, moaning and begging.

The last " _Oh_ " Jim sang out was somewhat muffled by Bas' cock. Still not fully erect, it was obscenely flexible; Bas had draped it over the curve of his cheekbone.

Jack was feeling a little possessive, or protective, of the sailor — _his_ sailor. He'd rather not see anyone else in Jim's ass tonight... but oh yes, he'd look gorgeous choking down that thick cock, once Bas got it hard again.

The Swede had moved even closer, leaning against the wall beside the bed, only occasionally stroking himself, not aggressive now, just curious.

Bas rubbed himself up and down Jim's face, getting closer to his lips now.

Jack slid out almost all the way, massaged some more cream around the base of his shaft — primitive stuff, it didn't last long, but he loved how it made everything gleam like the future — then sank back in all the way.

"Lick it," he said, voice ragged.

Jim poked out the tip of his tongue, only.

Jack put the rhythm of his hips on autopilot, leaned forward and got the tips of his two fingers into Jim's mouth; he pressed downwards gently against the top of his teeth. Jim took the hint and began to lick in earnest, shy tongue lolling out to bend and curl against Bas' shiny purple cock head.

The Swede reached down and wrapped his fist around Jim, pulling slowly, almost delicately.

"Lucky boy," said Jack, but that was the last thing he said for a while.

Bas had hunched down over Jim's head so he could barely see, damn it, but the sounds were outrageous, big wet slapping-sucking sounds and little popping sounds and raw hitching suddenly interrupted gasps and — Jack gave up and let himself go, pounding until his hips went weak and a firestorm of pleasure exploded inside him, then outwards. _Take it take it take it_ and he didn't even know who he was telling anymore, because where he stopped and where he started had all blurred into a fucking metaphysical haze.

The last pulse, the last spill, cleaned him. He slid out, leaving behind, with some pride, a slippery mess of cream and come; slid off the bed until his knees were on the floor, blindly resting his head against Jim's thigh until his mind began to reconstitute itself.

The first thing he saw when he raised his head again was the Swede, holding the empty bottle, holding it and considering its shape...

"Oh, no no no," said Jack quickly. "That's a terrible idea." He snatched the bottle and rolled it under the bed ( _out of sight, out of mind_ ) before the Swede even realized it was gone.

"But there's a candlestick on the shelf by the door. Candlestick. Over there." He pointed.

The night wasn't over yet.


End file.
